


Close Shave

by zmoc



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zmoc/pseuds/zmoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Who taught you how to shave, mister?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Shave

“What’s going on in here?” Oliver frowned as he entered his office at Verdant, catching the glint of mischief in his sister’s eyes and the slightly guilty expression in his EA’s. 

“Ummm - nothing,” Felicity stammered, stepping behind his desk, gathering up a variety of bottles and a battered mug.

“Thea?” He questioned, moving further into the space.

She smirked as she grabbed a shopping bag, flitting towards him and reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Nothing, big brother. Felicity was just helping me with a surprise for Roy. See ya!” She bounded out the door with a shouted, “Thanks Felicity!” leaving the two of them alone in the empty club.

He focused on the blonde, noting her starting to fidget under his gaze. “Felicity.”

“Hmmmm?” she tried, refusing to meet his eyes. He sighed and stepped closer, reaching across the desk and softly grasping her elbow.

“Felicity, what exactly did you help Thea with?”

“Oh um, nothing really,” she started, twitching a little when she heard his frustrated huff of breath. Squaring her shoulders, she met his gaze evenly. “Thea wanted to get Roy this gift card at the men’s grooming spa downtown and I was telling her he would, uh, appreciate it more if she were to, uh, spoil him herself,” she cringed, then soldiered on. “Not like that, just, I uh, I had this uncle, when I was little. He used to pick me up from school and take me to work with him until my mom got off of work and-“

“Felicity!” she jumped as he cut her off. Taking a long moment, he closed his eyes and schooled his voice into a calmer tone. “The point, please.”

“He was a barber, my uncle. The old fashioned, red, white and blue barber pole, shave and a haircut barber. And I was a nosy kid, so he showed me some stuff. Like how to give a real shave.” She trailed off, slightly out of breath, and cringed in anticipation of his reaction. When all he did was give a surprised laugh, she exhaled in relief.

“You’re not mad?” she asked, relaxing as Oliver came around the desk.

“Why would I be mad? Roy’s going to be happy he has his accelerated healing when Thea’s done with him.” He nodded at several balloon remnants littering the floor behind his desk. “Poor guy.”

It was Felicity’s turn to glare at him. “Those were her first attempts. She's pretty sharp, by the end she managed to shave an entire balloon without popping it.”

“Oh really,” he mocked. “An entire balloon.” He cut himself off as he noted the stubborn set to Felicity’s shoulders. “Still though, a hot shave for Roy?”

“I thought it would be sweet, something personal for her to do for him.”

“Uh huh - I’ll tell Diggle to be on standby.”

“Hey! Don’t be an ass. He's going to love it.”

He crossed his arms and watched as she cleaned up his desk. She wore her usual pencil skirt, her feet tipped with bright pink stilettos that gave her needed extra height. Her flowered top was loose and flowing, a sharp contrast to the tight fit of her skirt. He noticed that the sleeves were split from her shoulders to her elbow, giving him a tempting glimpse of the soft skin of her arm. Her movements were tight and efficient as she bent to gather the fragments of balloon still on the floor.

“Show me.”

“What?” She stood quickly, stumbling a little. He reached out with one hand to steady her, letting her lean on his arm until she was stable. 

“Show me. I’m in need of a shave anyway, and you have all of your stuff set up.”

“Um, I don’t think that would be the best idea, Oliver.”

He crooked a brow at her with a twist of his lips. “Oh come on, Felicity. I’m sure you won’t cut me, and even if you do, I’ve had worse.”

“Oliver,” she protested.

“Come on, Felicity. Show me what the fuss is about.”

Not one to back down from a challenge, she acquiesced, directing him to his chair as she slid it away from his desk. 

“Fine, sit. And take off your tie.”

He complied, removing his tie and undoing the first few buttons on his dress shirt as Felicity busied herself with her supplies. She draped a towel around his shoulders, pushing him softly back into the chair before disappearing into the small bathroom for a few minutes. She emerged holding a stack of steaming white towels in one hand and her tin cup in the other.

She turned the chair so he was facing her, his eyes still glinting with amusement. Felicity studied his face critically, one delicate brow arching above the frame of her glasses.

“I’m assuming you want to keep the goatee and just clean up the rest?”

“Sure.”

“OK. Lean back please. I need you to relax.”

It was his turn to arch a brow at her. “I’ll try.”

She huffed under her breath and none too gently wrapped a still steaming towel around his jaw and exposed neck, pushing him firmly back in the chair. Noting the angle at which he lay, she quickly rolled up two more towels and lifted his head briefly, slipping them under his neck. 

“Better,” she murmured to herself before busying herself with the rest of her routine. She arranged her supplies on the desk, picking up a ceramic handled brush and using it to work a small bar of shaving soap to a rich lather inside the battered tin mug. 

She noticed his eyes on her and drew her brows together.

“Re-lax.” With that she angled his desk lamp at him, forcing his eyes to shut as she illuminated his face and neck.

He obeyed, his back finally loosening as he sank further into the comfort of the padded chair. Oliver listened as she busied herself with little tasks, enjoying the gentle heat from the towel and the brief moment of respite. Yes, they had an endless list of items to pursue, but the luxury of this stolen moment would resonate for some time. 

His eyes fluttered open as she gently removed the towel, discarding it to the side as she angled his head slightly. She stepped back and squeezed something on her hands, rubbing them together vigorously before lightly applying the substance to his face and neck.

“What’s that?” he murmured.

“It’s a pre-shave oil. You don’t actually shave that often, so it will help you avoid any irritation. Also, it smells nice.” She kept her voice low as well, and for the first time he realized the intimacy of the situation he had pushed them into.

He felt his muscles tightening again, shifting slightly in his seat. His blood rushed south when she grabbed the strop and deftly honed her blade against it. 

“Last chance,” she teased softly, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth as her eyes danced. “Trust me?”

He didn’t reply, unable to form the words and instead caught himself nodding slowly, his eyes trained on hers.

She tipped his head back and reached for her brush, liberally applying the thick foam to his neck and face. She set the mug down and picked up the straight razor, moving in closer as she took her first swipe. Methodically, she ran the razor against his skin, and then turned to rinse it in a a shallow bowl. 

Oliver was in a hell of his own making. Her scent surrounded him, delicate and uniquely Felicity. Her fingertips directed his movements, gentle but confident, in control. She was solely focused on him, and yet not. The quiet rasp of her blade against his now softened stubble was the only sound in their limited space. Oliver shifted slightly, earning him a glare from his partner.

“Hold still. I can’t be responsible for nicking you if you’re going to fidget.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Just-“

She puffed out an irritated breath and straightened, waiting.

“It’s really quiet.” He cringed internally, knowing his excuse was flimsy at best.

A smile ghosted over her lips. She reached behind her and tapped a few keys on his keyboard, and soon the office was filled with strains of jazz.

“Better?”

Oliver wanted to tell her no, that the smooth notes were not helping him relax at all, but that would bring questions he wasn't ready to address yet. Instead he internally sighed and nodded, berating himself to be still and not react.

“Now hold still,” she admonished and returned to her task. He tried to focus on anything but her, noting the tiny ridge between her brows as she concentrated on the next stroke of the razor. Felicity had started with his neck, clearing up the dark scruff that seemed to reside there permanently, then tipped his head back further as she worked under his jaw. He shut his eyes as the movement brought her closer, her body skimming his. His hands gripped the armrest, his knuckles whitening as she gently leaned in, carefully scraping away more of his beard. His thoughts flew to bloody battles, baseball stats, Diggle in tights, anything to keep his traitorous body under control.

“Unclench your jaw, Oliver,” she scolded. “If I wanted to hurt you I’d come up with something less creative.” He blinked his eyes open, his world filled with a tantalizing side view of her curves, just within reach. He allowed his jaw to relax, murmuring an apology.

She rinsed her blade and came back in, her strokes short but efficient now, careful not to take off too much. He shut his eyes again, deciding to enjoy her soft touch. 

Sometimes, he realized, it seemed like she was the only one who touched him without agenda. With his opponents, it was always painful touches, with Diggle a silent competition for strength and dominance. His mom and Thea, sure, but they were family. And women, well, women had another agenda altogether. He forced his thoughts away again, mentally reviewing his fantasy football team. He missed Tommy.

She lightly tilted his face down now, stepping in closer as she straightened his head. The tip of her tongue appeared against her magenta lips as she studied him, then deftly evened his sideburns, high and angled against his ear. Her fingertips brushed his earlobe and he contained a tremor. 

She stepped between his legs, angling his head as she maneuvered the razor against one cheek, then the next. Her fingers stretched his skin slightly, resting against his temple as she smoothly took the razor down to his jawline, meticulous. Her hair cascaded around him, closing out the rest of the world. 

She met his eyes after a moment. “Do you want me to trim your beard and mustache?”

He didn’t know what devil made him prolong his torture. “Sure.”

She nodded briefly, then bent to her task, gently running the razor over the edges of his beard as he tried not to stare. His eyes darted around the room, and he noted that her arm was exposed. He gently lifted a finger to trace the soft skin through the slit in her sleeve, earning him a glare.

“Oliver.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“We’re almost done, just be still for a few more minutes. I should have guessed you would be so squirmy.”

With a few more passes of the blade, she stood back, rinsing the razor as she reached for another warm towel. She cleaned his face, wiping up the last of the foam. Oliver breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he wouldn’t have lasted much longer and realizing his dress pants offered him little to no modesty. 

“This is going to be cold,” she warned, before wrapping his face in a slightly cooler towel. He welcomed the refreshing chill, wishing he could cool the rest of himself down as effectively. She removed it after a few minutes, deftly wiping his cheeks and neck. She turned and squeezed some lotion into her hands, gently rubbing it into his skin. “All done,” she murmured. “Did you like it?”

His eyes held hers for a long moment, his hands settling on her waist and slowly pulling her back between his legs. “Uh-huh.”

“Oliver,” she warned, gently pushing against his chest. He caught it then, the slight glimmer of mischief in her eyes that she’d managed to hide up until then.

“You knew?” he gasped.

She tried and failed to look innocent, her lips twitching in amusement. Finally she gave it up, laughing lightly. “You did insist, Oliver.”

“But-you,” he took a moment to gather himself instead of stammering like a teenager. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose, Oliver,” she started as she tried to extract herself from his grip. “You doubted me. You should know by now never to doubt me.” 

“Felicity,” he stated softly, waiting until she focused on him. He was in control now, and he wasn't going to give up his advantage. He stood slowly, thankful he was able to, maintaining his loose grip around her waist. He moved them backwards until she bumped into his desk. “Felicity,” he repeated, his lips barely brushing her ear.

She nodded, her tongue darting out and wetting her lips. “Yes?” she squeaked.

“You taught Thea how to do this?”


End file.
